limited options
by nightclaw7
Summary: Szayel's fraccion escapes from Hueco Mundo, into the human world, and needs to be free at any cost. it's really short... there will probably be a second chapter.
1. keep breathing

one. two. three. I counted the heartbeats I had stolen for myself. Freedom can slow time like nothing else.

the woods slashed open my legs. It was beginning to get hard to tell where these scars came from. a scalpel a sword, or these woods.

the plants here practically grew on my blood.

four, five, six. that doesn't matter. I'm still alive, if you can even call it that at this point.

it's good enough for me.

seven, eight. it's only just beginning to dawn on me how often we do this. Running through these woods like a terrified animal, trying desperately to find some sanity here, like I have a chance at that anymore.

nine. ten. eleven. I'm beginning to consider the odds of this. near impossible, I understand that already, but "it's useless" is a lie in my book.

twelve, thirteen. I'm still alive.

blood drips down my legs.

I'm still alive.

doubt still plagues me like a disease.

how much farther now? where am I going now?

but I push past that.

it doesn't matter.

one breath of this world's air is enough to get you high off of false hope for days.

I like it.

fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Common sense is catching up to me by now.

I might pass out from blood loss.

seventeen eighteen nineteen,

I'm still alive...

I'm still alive. after everything I went through, after everything that should have ended it, I'm still alive.

Death certainly has a healthy sense of irony.

twenty, twenty one, twenty two... keep running, keep running.

twenty three, twenty four, twenty five... desperation spurs my heartbeat. my pristine thought process is shredded by its bestial teeth. the most primal of instincts. how fond of each other we have become.

keep running, keep running.

twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight... terror grips my heels. It lacerates them with its claws. hopelessness stares me in the eyes.

keep running, keep running.

twenty nine, thirty, thirty one... insanity comes through for me, and beats down terror and hopelessness though desperation is still stronger. I'm still alive.

keep running. keep running.

thirty two thirty three thirty four... keep running, keep running...

"hello again, dear. are we going to give up the act yet? we're not going to get anywhere if we keep at it like this." there was a dark chuckle. it took me a moment to realize I had already sunk to my knees.

thirty five, thirty six, thirty seven...

"given up already?" inquired the octava espada. "I was hoping for more of a fight, to be honest... it's almost pitiable to see how weak you really are, darling."

thirty eight, thirty nine, forty... I dragged myself out of the puddle of my own blood. I'm still alive, keep running... I used sonido again, in one last attempt to escape. keep running keep running...

forty one, forty two, forty three... a gloved hand grabbed my windpipe and flung me to the ground. The air heavy with the scent of hope was forced out of my lungs.

"please understand, you are property of me, dear. you won't be getting away, I promise you." Szayel grinned, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. My windpipe threatened to collapse. I knew it wouldn't. "try and cooperate, dear. it's awful you have to put me in this position so often. you know as well as I do how busy I am. running away like this is unbecoming."

fourty four... fourty five... fourty six... my artificially yellow eyes began to dim.

"you're always just so selfish..." he muttered, chuckling, and tightening the grip on my carotid artery, slowing the supply of oxygen to my brain.

forty seven...

forty eight...

at least I'm still alive...


	2. memories

1.. 2... 3... the screen counted my heartbeats he had claimed as his own. funny how routine this is becoming.

strapped to a table, watching myself suck life back into lungs that had stopped being much more than a sick imitation since I died.

praying to god that one second that screen would go dark and I could start from scratch again.

feeling a sadist smile behind me with another syringe full of something to slow my decay.

and realizing the precise moment to give up.

4...5...6... I had stopped bleeding.

stitches made sure of that.

"you're far too important for me to die, dear." he chuckled, slipping metal under my skin. "I won't allow it."

7...8...9...

my neck burned from the injection, crawling through my veins like white fire. I grit my teeth and took it, swallowing my pride with my tears, and not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

my muscles tensed, but I wasn't going to struggle again. that's been done far too many times. If I had to endure another one of his smirks I might kill him.

10...11...12...

"you've been awfully quiet," he remarked, checking over my file again, and flicking me a glance with what might've been read concern to the untrained eye. If it weren't for that infuriating glint of enjoyment even I might've read it as such. he was at the side of the table again, playing with a strand of my hair, and looking into my eyes. "pity... you have such a lovely voice."

13...14...15...

he leaned down and gave me a kiss.

there was no warmth in it, just a simple statement of how powerless I am.

he smirked.

he knew I couldn't be tempted to make a sound.

my eyes burned with loathing.

so he did it again.

...

I opened my eyes again.

the scenery had changed again.

I was in a white padded room, slumped against the wall like trash.

my breathing supplied a ragged whisper in the otherwise silent room.

I used to do a lot of screaming.

I stood up, running my hands through my hair. god, it felt good to be able to move my arms again. after being strapped to a table, the luxury of movement is too good to be true.

I tried to keep my mind working in a rational manner, trying to rework my thoughts.

Szayel keeps blocks in his fraccion's minds.

erases memories.

deletes free will.

makes their minds their own personal hell, a labyrinth impossible to escape from, until he can convince them not to think. do what he says and you'll find the way out. he'll show you there with a red thread tightening around your limbs like a marionette. prop you up where he wants you to go, and you fight for your captor and your savior, for the right not to think. to be free from deciding for yourself, because your mind is as tormented and twisted as your body. if they can stay as stupid as he wants, they'll do whatever he says. be his own personal stage props.

pity the lucky few.

we who claw our way through our maze, our hell, piecing it together like a riddle.

because we'll never find our way out. we'll force ourselves to think and remember and torture ourselves, for absolutely no reason at all. we'll lose our minds so we can hope to be sane.

but we're better off than the puppets.

I remembered back to the last point I recall.

I was becoming a hollow then, earlier than most arrancar can remember.

then I followed up chronologically, keeping track of the fabricated horror stories that got in the way.

there was an increase in the new ones, most of them managed to get me furious for half an instant, a faulty wire sending a spark. a memory so vivid that the mere recollection of it is enough to incite rage, or paralyzing fear.

those I marked as fakes, and disregarded them, but some of the hatred still lingered.

the shadow of doubt can't be disregarded like the memories can.

and I went through this.

over and over, finding cracks in the walls of the maze.

breaking through them, and making it easier to navigate again.

cutting the links back to Szayel's promises, because I know they're empty lies.

and going over them again, finding things I've missed.

only for the scientist to rebuild them stronger,

and lead more paths back to his promises.

and go over it again.

...


End file.
